


Slipping

by screaming_seagull



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Avatar: The Last Airbender References, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dissociation, Fluff, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd-centric, Multi, No proofreading we die like mne, Past Character Death, The Good Place references, Trans Tim Drake, author cannot think of titles, author is autistic and cannot write non autistic-coded characters, background jayroy, copious amounts of junk food, it’s Jason, rated t for jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screaming_seagull/pseuds/screaming_seagull
Summary: There’s a certain simplicity to panicOrTim is on his period and Jason is back on his bullshit
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 4
Kudos: 144





	Slipping

**Author's Note:**

> *sweats nervously* This was only supposed to be a thousand words

The clock read 2:48 PM when the call came through. 

Groggy from sleep, Jason pried his eyes open and felt across the night stand for his mobile. The letters on the too-bright screen swam out of time with the ringtone he’d never bothered to customize. “What do you want, Replacement?” Jason rasped out. 

The night before had been a rigorous eight hours of dismantling a gang that had been flying under the radar for weeks. The wounds would heal in a matter of days but the bruises to his ego would take longer to fade. Granted, not as long as the retaliatory shiner he’d given the goon who got in a lucky shot, but still some time. Add on to that he’d only been able to finally crash around ten that morning after taking care of his injuries, drafting his report, and giving Roy a call to say he was still in one piece. On four and a half hours of sleep, he wouldn’t have been ready to deal with his family on a good day, and was more than prepared to tell the kid to fuck off. That was, until he heard the noise coming from the phone. 

There was what sounded like muted sniffling on the other line. “Kid?” He asked more gently, suddenly wide awake and pushing down any unpleasant feelings. Mentally he got to cataloguing the possible reasons for the call. Tim could be hurt in a particularly sensitive area and due for another round of painkillers — it happened to the best of them; ask anyone who’d ever taken an unexpected blow to the ribs. Was Alfred out of the country this month or next? Maybe it had been an especially rough night and he was feeling the after effects of an adrenaline crash. Nightmares were always a bitch to deal with alone. He could simply be having an especially bad day. “You alright?”

He heard Tim’s breath hitch. “I-I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t have c-called,” he whimpered. Tim was a lot of things in the time Jason had known him. Apologetic was generally not one of them unless there was something very wrong. Dick once told him over a pint that breaking him of the habit had taken years of therapy and assurance that his needs weren’t something he needed to apologize for. Every once in a while the kid fell back on his old pattern when he was especially stressed or disoriented. The Apology Jar still lived on the kitchen counter for exactly that reason. 

“Nope, not getting off that easy,” Jason proclaimed as he swung his legs off the bed, knowing the jar would have another dollar in it before midnight but sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up. “Are you hurt? Need a pickup?”

”No, i-it’s dumb.” Already on his computer, Jason pulled up the GPS on the kid’s phone. It ran for maybe a few seconds before pinpointing Wayne Manor. So imminent disaster could probably be ruled out. Alien invasions usually warranted more than one phone call, supernatural threats weren’t something he tried to get too involved in, and any really terrible news would be delivered in person. 

Stalking out of the bedroom he made his way towards the main area of the apartment. “Did something happen?” 

”Um, I don’t think so?” Tim sounded a bit clearer now, but like he was asking rather than telling. “Uh, Bruce is in Hong Kong with Cass and Damian for the week and Dick’s in California. Alfred left to visit family this morning. It’s fine, really I just…” he murmured something unintelligible. 

“What’s that?” Keys, keys, where were his keys…

“I got my period, ” Tim blurted out. Oh.  _ Oh _ . 

Jason froze. Tim’s cycle, from what he could gather, hit him hard. Generally it was Bruce who handled it. The office knew not to expect either of them in for a few days every month without question. But Bruce was overseas on a business trip with Cassandra, Dick couldn’t get back for at least seven hours, and Alfred was halfway over the Atlantic. Which left Jason. 

He wasn’t oblivious about trans issues. Being on the streets for so long made that impossible. He’d heard every horror story the lost kids of Gotham had to offer. Hell, he’d gotten a pretty comprehensive education during the fourteen months after Catherine died. But he had settled into the role of informer and protector more recently. He’d gotten used to being approached by sometimes worrying numbers of kids at night needing someone to go with them to pick up necessities from former homes or an escort to somewhere they could spend the night. Tim was different. He’d always had a warm place to stay and food to eat. The question for him wasn’t “how will dad react” as much as “how will high society react.” Not to say the kid had it easy, of course, this stuff was never easy for anyone, but Tim’s problems weren’t the ones he was used to dealing with. Maybe it was residual discomfort around so much wealth or maybe it was internalized transphobia, he didn’t know. 

He’d once asked the kid about wanting to transition medically while stitching him up. “The doctor won’t consider me as a candidate for top surgery until I’m twenty one,” he’d said. “There are concerns about post-op complications.” When he’d asked about HRT, Tim had told him longingly that all his medications would need to be adjusted should his dosage be increased. He hadn’t asked again, and hadn’t so much as broached the subject. Tim hadn’t brought anything up since and they’d both carried on. 

He really needed to sit down with Dinah and talk some shit out. 

He was probably the last person anyone should go to with anything regarding their mental health. General stability had never been one of his defining personality traits and he made sure everyone around him knew it. He knew how to handle a crisis situation and how to spot warning signs. The guidebook for everything in between might as well be written in Egyptian hieroglyphics for all the good he could offer. Damage control was never something he’d exceeded at, in or out of tights. And now he was abruptly saddled with a crying, probably cripplingly dysphoric teenager who’d idolized him for years. Great. “Okay, uh, do you. Do you need anything?” He asked awkwardly, trying to think of what he was supposed to say. God, problems he could shoot were so much easier to deal with. “Wait, no, don’t answer that. I won’t know what to get. Call Steph,” he decided. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He waited for Tim to hang up. 

First order of business: find some pants. 

Forty minutes, a sop at Starbucks, iron on patches for himself and the family, and half a dozen pamphlets later he was knocking on Tim’s bedroom door.  _ Do You Know What I Mean _ played from Tim’s room. Why the kid couldn’t sulk to better music was a mystery. Jason used to go for Black Sabbath when others could hear and Pop Punk when he was alone. 

“Come,” he heard Tim calling over the music. Pink and blue monstrosity in his free hand, Jason turned the knob and poked his head in. For a moment he thought he’d somehow knocked on the wrong door, but the signed and framed Flying Graysons poster was still bolted in place above the ancient Hepplewhite dresser. It was still Tim’s closet covered in his collection photographs, newspaper clippings, and advertisements. Tim’s desk with its thousand-dollar office chair was still positioned under the loft bed. He couldn’t recall ever having seen the antique Persian rug on Tim’s bedroom floor, although with how Alfred described having to navigate the room he was almost surprised there was a floor at all. 

Tim sat on his tiny, overstuffed sectional studying a pile of laundry against the wall with red rimmed eyes like it was going to start spouting off prose. Dark splotches hung from his eye sockets. A few scabs that looked like the remains of zits peppered his face. His chin rested on his knees which were pulled up to his chest and into a pink sweatshirt with “not a robot, not a girl” printed on the front in sparkly gold lettering. His hair was wet and pulled back into a man bun. Instead of a lamp, rainbow string lights illuminated the room. Between the shapeless hoodie and mournful gaze, he looked less like a Tim and more like a sad lump. 

“I got you this, uh, thing,” Jason said, holding a Unicorn Frappuccino up for the lump to see. Sure, he was down sixty bucks and quite possibly a Starbucks willing to serve him, but he’d found a damn drink matching the colors of the flag on the right side wall, so he was counting it as a win. 

The lump sighed, unmoving. “Thanks.”

Right then. Not in much of a chatty mood. Jason set the drink in one of the available cup holders (because of course the kid couldn’t have a regular sofa without nonsense accessories) and plopped himself down on the unoccupied side of the couch. 

As Queen played through the speakers, Jason took a few minutes to study the kid. He looked paler than usual. The set of his jaw advertised discomfort. The most immediate concern was the dried tear tracks running down his face. His eyes were still puffy and fresh tears threatened to spill over. In a word, the kid looked miserable. Welp, time to channel his inner big brother. “Oh, Timmy,” he whispered, pulling the kid into a side hug. 

Jason had never been under any impression that he was Dick Grayson. He didn’t have the looks, the natural athleticism, the upbeat attitude, or the privilege of being the quintessential Robin. That didn’t mean he couldn’t deal with a needy teenager. “I’ll be right back,” he promised with one last squeeze to the shoulder. 

Every bedroom in the Manor had an attached bathroom. Aside from the master bath, they were all laid out nearly identically and organized the same way. Every vanity held a collection of towels of every size on the shelf closest to the heated floor. Pulling out a washcloth and running it under warm water was something he could do purely on muscle memory by now. He didn’t feel angry, but he was… annoyed? Frustrated? Something like that. Tim could take care of himself. He had other people he could call if he really needed. But he shouldn’t have to. It had taken him ages to drop the lone wolf attitude when he was first adopted. Bruce had worked tirelessly to instill in him that yes, he could be entirely self-sufficient if he wanted, but it wasn’t required. To an eleven year old fresh off the streets, it had sounded ridiculous.

Bruce had been patient. He’d offered his help with schoolwork when Jason got stuck on a math problem or a difficult word. No questions were asked when Jason stalked the unfamiliar halls at night or when non perishables went missing from the kitchen. When he got into a fight at school over awful comments another student was making, Bruce had his back when he was called into the principal. His first night as Robin, Batman had hauled him up onto his back and grappled along the cold New Jersey coastline, showing him all of Gotham in a single night. He’d loved it for the sights and smells of the city, but he especially loved feeling like he belonged for the first time in years. It had hit him that night that he wasn’t alone. He could always go to his dad. 

On an hours-long steak out years later, he and Nightwing got talking. “B was never the same after losing you,” Dick had confessed quietly. “His walls went back up for a long time. “Timmy never knew the Bruce either of us did.”

It occurred to him that he had no idea what he was doing. The brochures he’d skimmed on the way over gave general tips of how to be supportive, but it was all information he’d known since age eight. There was no how-to manual on taking care of a depressed, seventeen year old, hormonal trans boy who moonlighted as a superhero. 

Jason risked a look in the mirror, taking a few calming breaths until the green tint in his eyes subsided. Anger wasn’t going to help.  _ Neither is an anxiety attack _ , said the asshole living in the back of his brain.  _ Shut up _ , he retorted. The washcloth in his hands was warmed to his liking, so he shut off the tap and wrung it out before returning to Tim’s side. “I’m going to touch you now,” he warned, giving him time to say no. There was no indication not to, so he lifted the rag to the kid’s cheek. Tim sighed happily as the washcloth ran over his face. “Better?” Jason asked, to which Tim nodded in response, visibly more relaxed, and took a sip from his drink. Jason smiled “What’s it taste like?”

Tim’s face scrunched up into his thinking look like it did whenever he was just on the cusp of solving a mystery but missing one crucial piece. “Mango?” He said tentatively, voice hoarse. “It’s very sweet.” He took another sip. “I’m drinking syrup,” he decided, clearing this throat. Jason snorted at that. “Know when you bite into something so sweet you already feel sick? That but a beverage.” He sucked the straw for another long moment. “It’s not bad,” seemed to be the final verdict. He rested his head briefly on Jason’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he half-whispered. 

“Don’t mention it,” Jason made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Want to watch a movie or something?” He wasn’t sure if it was what he was supposed to say, but distractions were easier to manage than actual feelings. Setting up something to arch was easy enough to do.  _ Small steps _ , he reminded himself, pushing down the anxiety bubbling in his chest.  _ One thing at a time _ . 

Tim thought about it for a moment, taking another long sip and smacking his lips a few times. “Netflix just added  _ Avatar _ ,” he suggested shyly.

Jason shrugged. “Your pick, kiddo.” This was fine. Tim could pick whatever he wanted and Jason didn’t have to do anything. He tried to ignore the way his fingers twitched for something to keep occupied with. 

Tim smiled a real, genuine smile and reached for the remote. He had the television set up behind a false panel in the wall that folded away with a click of a button. There was a thirty two inch screen plus surround sound speakers and a gaming setup that looked like it cost half as much as Jason’s apartment. “Is it okay if we start with episode one?” 

“Whatever you feel like.” He was doing fine. This was fine. 

Tim cued up the first season from the beginning right when there was a ding from his phone. A small smile tugged at his lips when he opened the device. Tim uncurled and switched to sitting with his legs under himself. “Steph says she’ll be here in five,” he reported. “Is that okay?” He asked quickly, head swiveling around to look at Jason for the first time. 

“Of course,” Jason responded in what he hoped was a comforting tone. “You can have whoever you want over.” Tim hummed and somewhat reluctantly settled in to watch. 

The asking permission was another thing Dick had mentioned being difficult, especially at first. They had realized pretty quickly that something wasn’t right with Tim’s living arrangement when he mentioned not needing to get home before sundown for another two months. Once Tim had been moved in, he’d asked to be allowed to decorate his new bedroom. At dinner that night he’d asked to be allowed to join the meal. Two days later he’d crept into Bruce’s home office in a near panic wondering if he could use the soaps his shower had been stocked with. Since learning about it and realizing how much Tim asked about before doing, Jason had daydreamed about punching Jack and Janet Drake should they ever come back to life. 

He didn’t like lying to the kid, but he was here to make him feel better, not cater to his own whims. Stephanie Brown was a confident, powerful force of nature he preferred not to deal with when he was low on energy. She was never unfriendly to him, just… a lot. The last time they’d spoken out of costume had left him drained and craving a hot cup of tea. That didn’t matter, obviously, because she was Tim’s friend and Tim looked like he needed a familiar face that had never tried to kill him. 

Aang burst out of the iceberg when Stephanie knocked on the door. ”Good afternoon, Mr. Manly Man! Hi, Jason!” She said with a flourish. Tim signed hello to her and Jason nodded as she kicked off her shoes. There was a tote on each arm, advertising Gotham Community College and the NAACP respectively. “Here’s the food,” she announced, placing the second bag on the floor. “We’ve got cookies, cupcakes, chocolate, chocolate covered strawberries, popcorn and gummy worms. Don’t worry about the cost,” she said when Tim got a nervous look on his face, “I put it on Bruce’s credit card. Now this,” she held up her arm with the remaining bag, “I’m going to stick this in the bathroom and leave you to organize however you want.” 

She was in and out in a flurry of motion, leaving Jason dizzy and his brain stuck playing catch-up. She had the kind of presence that really shouldn’t be able to be confined to a single room, let alone a person, and yet she managed to make herself seem impossibly small. He’d never met someone who could ignore her. She had a magnetic effect on the people around her, drawing them in until she’d pull a 180 and repel them away. It was a side of her that only came out when she was mad. It wasn’t her fault that the injustices of the world ignited her temper, he told himself. 

She was back a minute later giving Tim’s knee a quick pat and making herself comfortable on the floor. “What did I miss?” She asked in reference to the show. While Tim provided a recap, Jason took the chance to look Stephanie over. She was dressed in a nice blouse and skirt and had fuzzy socks with photorealistic bacon. She looked entirely at ease. He vaguely remembered something about them dating at one point, but he never would have guessed. They moved around one another more like best friends who lacked much sense of boundaries. He’d never really spoken to her out of costume and could say very little about her aside from being a good friend to Tim and having truly legendary patience for the demon brat. 

The two chatted in hushed tones for a few minutes before the conversation died down and they were absorbed by the screen. Jason could quite follow what they were saying, but he picked out the words “Jersey Shore,” and decided he was better off not knowing. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a text from Roy reminding him of the incoming flight schedule and when to be at the airport the next morning. He texted back confirmation that he’d be there along with a picture of the TV. 

“I‘ve gotta use the bathroom,” Tim announced, shifting awkwardly from the couch with a grunt and shuffling through the door. It closed and locked with a click, leaving Stephanie and Jason effectively alone. In the dimness of the room, she was like a beacon. The way she stared him down reminded him of being fourteen and getting dressed down after patrol for using excessive force. 

“How is he, really?” Steph asked, turning to Jason, blond hair whipping around. Any hint of humor was gone from her voice. “I can call someone if you need to leave,” she added after a moment. “Or I could stay a while. Either or.”

Jason shrugged. “I’ve got no context, but I’d say not great. He hasn’t moved since I got here around 3:30.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. Presumably she knew everything that was going on with Tim. 

“Oof,” she muttered empathetically.

“Yup.”

It wasn’t an unwelcome or uncomfortable silence that they fell into, but there was an underlying anxiety he couldn’t shake. He was reminded of the first few days back in school when the room would become tense in anticipation, or the first time he’d met Dick, scratch that,  _ Robin _ , and not known what to say. There used to be long nights spent entirely in that state with Roy before they’d gotten their shit as together as it would ever be. It was the feeling of waiting for the ball to drop, the tug of excitement just before hitting the water, the leaping of the heart before a jump scare. The rubber band kept stretching tighter and tighter. Eventually, it would snap. He was never much good at being the one to break it. 

“Do you think we’re alone in the universe?” Stephanie inquired. 

Jason blinked a few times. “We regularly work with aliens,” he said slowly. “I don’t think it’s much of a question.”

“No, not aliens,” she clarified. “I mean like… You know, you think about all the crazy stuff we deal with, or that B deals with on a monthly basis, and I guess, well, I guess I can’t help wondering if even with all the gods and entities out there if there isn’t something bigger.”

“I don’t know.” In truth he didn’t want to think about it too much. He had vague memories of Willis taking him to Mass as a kid, but had been far too young to get anything out of it. Now, the idea of a power higher than everything he’d experienced turned his stomach. Something conscious and so big that it dwarfed all else and still permitted the horrors he’d witnessed was unfathomable. Bruce had talked to him once about an infinite multiverse where every possibility came true. Being a smartass, he’d countered that logically there would have to be a universe where there was no multiverse. Bruce had smiled and ruffled his hair before sending him off to bed. 

“I’d really like the chance to meet whatever or whoever is calling all the shots,” she pondered. “That way I could go up to him, kick him in the crotch, and yell at him for making my friend so miserable.” Jason smiled at the mental image of Stephanie Brown vs The Universe Incarnate, probably grabbing it by it’s ear and scolding it into submission. 

The toilet flushed. “If you meet him, or it, or whatever, tell him to quit fucking with us, and specifically to go fuck itself for the worst coulrophobia if all time.” She laughed the sort of laugh that let him know she’d remember that, should the time ever come. 

Tim stumbled out of the bathroom. “S-sorry,” he groaned, collapsing back onto the couch. Jason shot him a worried look, but felt wholly unqualified to offer any assistance. This was fine. He felt fine. Anxiety was a perfectly normal response to unknown variables. He didn’t have to panic. 

“Nope, no apologizing allowed.” Stephanie handed him the box of strawberries with a peck on the cheek. “Eat,” she instructed. He sniffed in response. Tim munched contently on a few strawberries and Jason took a chance on a cupcake. It was pretty good for two dozen cakes with a $2 clearance sticker. He would just sit eating his cupcake and absorbe late 2000s Nickelodeon. 

Of course, leave it to the damn show to make everything harder. 

“ _ Yay! Aang's back! _ ” Came the cheer from the village kids. So happy and innocent. So naive to what the return would bring.  _ You’re back, _ echoed a very different voice from so many months ago. So much harder and deeper, just barely cracking with overwhelming and unidentified emotion.  _ You’re back, you’re back, you’re back _ . But he’d come back damaged.  _ Now we could  _ all _ be in danger. _ In danger from him. From his guns. From the rage of the Lazarus Pit. From what he’d ushered in.  _ The traitor confesses!  _ To all the blood. To all the people he’d hurt. He’d broken the one rule. Shattered the code for his own self gain. And for what? Unmarked graves that would never be seen? Jealousy for the love he could easily have had back? Desperation for the one kill he could never make?  _ I'm protecting you from threats like him! _ Because isn’t that all he was at the end of the day? Another threat. Another rogue. Someone to lock away and toss out the key. Too obsessed with his own vendetta to see reason. Slowly slipping away into insanity. Slipping away from his body, his soul. No. No, no, no, no, no. He was in control. He wasn’t back there. He was back home. He needed to stop thinking about it. He was safe in the manor, not anywhere else. Not being chased down by anyone. No one was angry, he just needed to relax. He just needed to —

Just as Prince Zuko was ordering the Avatar shot down, there was a tapping on the window. Tim and Stephanie both looked comfortable where they were and not too inclined to move, so Jason dutifully rose from his spot on the couch and pulled back the curtains. Being in the relative dark for the last while left him completely unprepared for the sunlight. Based on Tim’s yelp and Stephanie’s indignant shriek, they were in the same boat. 

But they weren’t. His breath still felt short and his heart was hammering in his chest. If he reached for his rib cage he wasn’t certain he would simply reach through. He should be up, shouldn’t be moving around. 

“Hey!” Superboy called from outside. “Did I miss the good part?” His leather jacket and sunglasses were the only parts of his costume in place. Jason fell backwards into his mind. 

The first gala he had attended with Bruce was a charity ball for disenfranchised youth. He distinctly remembered thinking that one earring from the lady who pinched at his scrawny cheeks could have fed him for a month, and how relieved he was when Bruce stole him away. He also remembered the betrayal when he was pushed away from the party and towards a journalist. 

“This is Clark Kent,” Bruce had told him gently. “He’s going to ask you a few questions, alright?” Jason had scowled but nodded. “Don’t worry,” Bruce said, “he’s a friend.”

”Hello, Jason,” the man greeted. He was dressed in a khaki suit with a press lanyard around his neck and shoes that weren’t nearly as fancy as the uncomfortable pair Jason had been forced into. He had been instructed not to speak with reporters, but if Bruce wanted him to it was probably safe, right? Unconvinced, he sat in the uncomfortable chair across from the man trying very hard not to squirm in front of the stranger. “It’s very nice to meet you.” He didn’t act all scandalized when Jason didn’t return the offered handshake which was nice. 

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Bruce interjected at that point. Then his mask slipped back into place and he’d turned to exclaim “Reginald!” With open arms and the fakest smile Jason had seen all night. 

To his surprise, the reporter laughed. “Brucie Wayne is quite the spectacle, huh?” Jason’s face must have looked confused as he felt because the man stopped laughing to explain. “This… performance he puts on,” he said, gesturing to where “Brucie” was clumsily introducing himself to some model whose name Jason was supposed to remember. “I’m guessing this is your first time seeing such a thing.”

Jason nodded silently. “I don’t like it,” he admitted, surprised that someone knew it was a peculiar act. But if he was Bruce’s friend then it would make sense for him to at least have a hint. 

“Well,” the reporter asked pulling out a notepad, “what sorts of things do you like?” That weekend, the Daily Planet published an article about the new adopted son of Bruce Wayne — a smart and intellectual boy with a strong interest in his schoolwork and a deep compassion for people in need. Jason figured Bruce must have liked the article a lot because Clark Kent was repeatedly invited to functions. 

At the Annual Martha Wayne Holiday Party when Jason was thirteen, Dick asked if Clark had ever taken him flying. His eyes widened in realization, asking a million questions when he was pulled aside for his interview. Dick had a shit eating grin all the while. Bruce had told him they would visit Kansas sometimes and he could fly with Superman all he wanted. Shame they’d never gotten the chance. 

Jason had never seen Clark in anything other than either of his suits before he died. Seeing this kid with Clark’s face dressed in jeans and a tee shirt was a sort of uncomfortable he couldn’t quite explain. It was like looking at a familiar face with an entirely new haircut, just disconcerting enough to put you on edge, and just enough to snap him back into the present. 

”It’s all the good part,” Tim snarked back with his eyes still glued to the screen. “If you miss any of it you’re missing the good part.” His brow furrowed for a moment. “Except for The Great Divide. You can probably skip that episode.” 

“True enough.” Jason opened the window to a gust of summer air and a half-Kryptonian clone climbing through. “Hey, Steph, Jason,” Conner acknowledged, squeezing himself into the space between Tim and the armrest with expert efficiency. This is the part where he was meant to respond. He knew that. There were just too many options. Hey. Hello. How are you? What’s up? Hi. How’s it going?  _ Why can’t I move? _

“Afternoon, pardner,” Stephanie replied in an exaggerated southern drawl. She held up the untouched box of snickerdoodles as an offering. Conner took the whole thing and propped it up against the wall. 

“Much obliged,” he replied in same accent before turning his attention to Tim. “How are you feeling?” He asked. Tim cuddled up closer and Conner draped an arm around his shoulders. “That good?” He teased with a raised eyebrow and chuckled at the half hearted glare he got in return. It was like watching a movie, how naturally they flowed. Like something scripted and rehearsed a thousand times. Like the feeling of becoming so absorbed in a film that for a short while it becomes your entire reality. 

All the tension Tim was still holding in ebbed away. Jason could imagine the slightly manic twinkle in his eye and beaming smile he must be sporting. He snuggled into Conner like an oversized teddy bear and gave a tiny contented sigh. “I’ve felt better,” he mumbled into Conner’s chest. “Sore all over.” He adjusted his shoulder with a grimace.

Right. He was here for Tim. Whatever this was could wait.  _ “Dissociating,” _ a voice in the back of his mind supplied.  _ “Shut up,” _ he snapped. Oh, yeah, great job there, Todd, talking to the voices in your head. He left his body to pilot itself back to the couch. 

Conner hummed stroking Tim’s head. “Did you take your medication?” Tim nodded, letting his eyes slide shut. Crap, medication? Had he been supposed to get that? Or was Conner talking about the regular prescription drugs?  _ Dammit _ . 

Tim sighed. “Other… issues.” Because of course he’d say something that could mean a million different things. Tim had lots of mental issues. He had anxiety, depression, dysphoria, post-traumatic stress, and probably other problems from childhood. There was his acquired asplenia to worry about, too. If he was sick, it could become dangerous very quickly. 

But Conner didn’t seem to be panicking. “I’m sorry,” He said, removing the hair tie and combing out Tim’s hair with his fingers. His voice was gentle like silk and caring like an old dog. If he weren’t so caught up in his mind, Jason might have found it comforting. But he couldn’t. Not when his little brother was hurting and there was nothing he could do. 

“S’okay,” Tim whispered. Jason didn’t believe him. He saw how Tim’s muscles wouldn’t quite relax and how his breathing was too deliberate to be natural. The quirk of his brow indicated a headache he wouldn’t admit to, an arm over his belly was a telltale sign of cramps, and his voice was getting ever so slightly weaker. “I tried cleaning earlier to see if it would help me feel better.”

“It looks great!” Stephanie piped up. 

“Did it help?” Conner asked. 

Tim shrugged. “Not really. Just made me sweaty.” Which would be why his hair was wet. Jason continued to sit silently, scouring his brain for a distraction. His hands shook the longer his breath felt erratic. His legs felt like lead. 

Team Avatar was flying away from the Southern Air Temple when Tim decided it was time for a change in position. He scooted closer to the wall so his head was cushioned on the couch’s armrest and laid out across Conner’s lap. Jason’s chest felt tighter and tighter.

“Do you want to get in bed?” Conner asked, continuing to play with his hair and gently massage his scalp. 

“No,” Tim mumbled, “but my weighted blanket would be nice.” He moved to prop himself up on one elbow, but Conner shushed him and kept him in place. “I think I left it in the game room,” he said half into the couch. 

“On it,” Stephanie exclaimed, popping up off the ground and scurrying off to find the requested item. She was so quick and efficient. Why couldn’t Jason be more like her? She had come back too, but not wrong like him. She was still Stephanie, uncorrupted and unchanged. 

“You’ve changed,” Bruce has said sullenly one night from a medical cot. “I feel like I don’t know you any longer.” Jason hadn’t been able to tell him he felt the same way. 

A small whining sound came from Tim and he whispered something Jason couldn’t hear. “What?” He mentally cursed himself for sounding distressed. He was fine. They didn’t need to worry about him. There was no reason his throat should be feeling like sandpaper. 

”Hot water bottle,” Conner translated. 

“Right.” Okay. Hot water bottle. He could do that. That was a straightforward and achievable goal. He stood up too quickly and needed a second to reorient. If Conner noticed, he didn’t say anything. He should have. It was one moment longer that Tim would be without what he needed. 

Leaving the room was a chore. The floorboards creaking grated his ears, the lights were far too bright, and the air was too cold. He put the water on without too much issue.  _ Small victories _ . The bottle was microwaveable, sure, but Alfred always insisted that heating water over the stove was better. Something glowed on the edge of his vision and he swiveled around to look. It was the kettle. The damn electric kettle with the time display. All it took was three minutes for the water to boil. Three, slow, agonizing minutes counted down by a glaring red LED display. Red numbers ticking down second by second until the heat filled the too-small space and exploded outward. His mouth tasted like copper and sand and his ears rang like he’d been punched. He didn’t even think about it, he just unlocked his phone and pulled up recent calls. 

It rang once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

No answer. Never an answer when he needed it. Never before the time ran out. He couldn’t stop the pinpricks behind his eyes or catch the counter quickly enough to keep upright. The clock kept ticking down. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m zootvootskidoot on tumblr! Come ramble at me about fandom things!


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